


Then Kneel Down Presently

by Raletha



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:03:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raletha/pseuds/Raletha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zechs leaves behind his name and his family to join OZ, where he meets the man who will control his destiny.  Circa 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then Kneel Down Presently

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harloprillalar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Harloprillalar).



> For Harloprillalar's request in the 2004 Gundam Wing Back-to-School Smutathon

Milliardo regarded the letter on his desk. It had been handwritten on the highest quality parchment paper: thick and off-white with a finely lined texture. It was soft under his fingers, and he could feel where the thick peacock blue ink had depressed the paper's texture. He had only read the letter once; he'd only needed to read it once. It marked the end of so many things.

He turned his head to look out the window, but let his fingers remain caressing the paper. In the gardens outside autumn had come to Austria early. Flowers had withered and leaves turned. They were just now losing the last vestiges of colour and becoming brown, dry, and wrinkled.

The letter had come finally. Its arrival had brought with it both relief and further tension. The address on the envelope had already caused concern among the household. When Peygan had delivered it, his expression had been anything but approving.

Millardo knew the butler would be contacting the Darlian's soon to tell them of how Millardo was going astray. How could he, a Peacecraft, turn away from his family and apply to join OZ? And now that he had been accepted to the Academy, to start in just a few weeks? What then? What shame would Millardo bring them? What hypocrisy!

The photo of Relena on his desk mocked him with her little girl's smile. He was doing it for her. Never mind the status of his own soul. He'd given up on that when he watched his parents die, when he'd watched the palace burn, and when he'd vowed his vengeance with his own blood.

This was no world for the only daughter of the world's greatest pacifist, but it should be. He would make it so by being one to embrace the very tools feared by his father. For it was only through the crucible of human suffering and war that a new world could be born. Like the Phoenix it would be. He would see to it. He would make it right.

He folded the letter without looking at it and slid it back within its envelope. He smoothed the small package flat against his desk and stared at it. It hadn't been addressed to Millardo Peacecraft, after all. This was the end of that life.

'Zechs Merquise' read the envelope, scribed with an elegant flourish in someone's well-schooled hand. It was the first time Milliardo had seen his new name written by someone else. He traced the bold strokes of the 'Z' with his index finger and murmured the name, "Zechs. Zechs Merquise."

He liked the way the German affricate sang when he pressed the tip of his tongue behind his front teeth. He liked the sharpness and brevity of the final consonant cluster. The name sounded like his new identity. There was no languid "l", dull 'd', or hollow, trailing vowel. And the last name had none of the softness in either sound or semantics of what he abandoned.

The new name was a strong, noble one: refined and powerful, as he would become.

 

He arrived at the Academy in Brussels just a week later, two weeks before classes began. That week he stayed in a nearby hotel until the dorms were open. He had hoped to slip in as just another hopeful first year student, but that wish turned out to be a futile one. Due to his familial name -- not his new name, but Peacecraft -- he found himself an object of interest to many members of the school's administration. He was shuttled from office to home and though treated politely always, came to dislike the thinly veiled interrogations of him and his motivations for abandoning his family and joining OZ.

Among the aging aristocrats of OZ was an unspoken sentiment that, by Zechs' attendance of the Academy, they had struck some sort of significant blow against the doctrine of pacifism. Zechs learned quickly to encourage their self-satisfaction, and gave as little away about the specifics of himself as possible. He never once mentioned Relena nor the Darlians. Their names should not be spoken in such company.

That first week passed for Zechs in an interminable blur of parlours and libraries after dinner, spent with old men drinking brandy and smoking cigars. He'd be seated in a leather chair, handed a snifter containing half a shot of brandy (and told with a conspiratorial wink that it was all right for him to drink in adult company, he was a man now himself wasn't he?), and then be the old men's trophy for the evening. Eventually they would be talking about him not to him, about his father, his family -- Sanq -- and he would be left with a miniscule buzz staring at the wood paneling, until the wife of one of the men would intrude into the den of antique masculinity, take pity on the poor boy who needed his sleep and would likely rather be spending his time with young men his own age, and she would call him a taxi.

By his first Sunday away from Austria, Zechs wasn't sure he still wanted to be at the Academy. But on Monday, that all changed. Other students began to arrive, he moved into his dorm room, and he was introduced to his student mentor -- an upperclassman of the ancient Khushrenada line, Treize.

Treize, a few years his senior, embodied everything Zechs hoped he would one day become: genteel, powerful, and charismatic. And all of it tempered by a sensitivity both emotional and aesthetic that could seduce even the most cynical of hearts. Thus Zechs happily attended to all of Treize's advice, allowed the older boy to show him around the campus and the local township as well as advise his course of study and goals within OZ. Their camaraderie blossomed quickly. Soon they were spending idle time between classes talking over coffee, and Zechs found himself slowly opening up to Treize -- telling him of his real name (until now known only to the schools' staff), his family history, and even telling him about Relena. Treize always listened, and there was always sympathy in the young man's blue eyes.

Their friendship progressed effortlessly and joyfully (Treize never once made Zechs feel less for his relative youth) and by three weeks into the term, they were nigh inseparable in their free time. At Treize's urging, Zechs -- though he had never acted before in his life -- auditioned for the drama club's production of Christopher Marlowe's _Doctor Faustus_ , and they celebrated heartily when not only was Zechs cast in the leading role, but also he would be playing opposite Treize's Mephistophilis.

It gave them even more opportunity to spend time together -- guilt free time at that, since reading lines together was a necessary part of preparing for the play. Zechs was eager for every moment spent with Treize as he realised his feelings of friendship for his mentor were growing into something more intense than platonic adoration. He spent many sleepless nights flush with the suspicion -- the possibility -- that his crush was reciprocated.

The production, which took up most of his time and ran the two weeks prior to their Christmas holidays, was a great success. They even had to schedule two new matinees on the Friday and Saturday of the final weekend. It was fabulous every performance, and Treize assured him that the last show would be the most memorable of all.

 

The final performance was just as Treize had promised it. The audience had applauded most vigorously then, and when he and Treize had come out to take their last bow as Dr Faustus and Mephistophilis, they received a standing ovation. There had been three curtain calls.

High, he was high on nothing more than adrenaline and pride and whatever other euphoria inducing hormones came with the end of a performance. It was especially sweet tonight. He was still too excited to be feeling the loss of the show's coming to an end, of no more rehearsals and late night script readings with Treize in his upper classman dorm room.

Oh, they had been brilliant! He laughed and joked and hugged and slapped the backs of the other cast members and the grips, and was hugged and slapped and congratulated in turn. In fact he was the star! Treize had slipped away somehow and thus Zechs quickly became the centre of the adulation. A few girls had managed to come backstage and flirted with him, though their faces blended together and he didn't remember their names beyond when they introduced themselves. They soon found other cast members to cling to and left him to his own, more aloof, space. He was the star after all.

By the time the impromptu backstage celebration had begun to break up, with different cliques proposing different bars for continuing the partying with the addition of social lubrication, Zechs was actively searching for Treize. His friend had simply melted away after they'd come back behind the curtain that final time.

Zechs declined taking a ride with the others in some unlucky student's car, instead saying he would catch up with them later, once he'd found Treize and told him where they were meeting.

And thus he was alone backstage in the deserted auditorium. He indulged himself by stepping back out on the stage for a minute -- the last time in his costume of antique academic robes. The house lights were on, though dimmed, which spoiled the illusion for him somewhat as he walked to stage centre and looked out across the empty seats.

The remaining props on the stage had yet to be cleaned up, and lay discarded, finished with their roles too. What had been powerful illusions now were just painted cardboard and foam and plastic. But it had been amazing, hadn't it? He'd done well, hadn't he?

The young man's heart swelled with his newfound pride -- he even indulged a moment of arrogance. At least until he heard the footstep behind him and a familiar cultured tenor. "There you are, Zechs. I thought you must have left with the others," said Treize.

Hearing that voice shrank Zechs' ego back to its more customary -- but still somewhat inflated -- size. However, to the boy it seemed a terrific blow. His stomach seemed a cage for exotic butterflies and his palms sweated. "I was looking for you, actually," Zechs said and turned around to face Treize.

Treize was still in his costume but he'd removed the makeup and brushed out his hair. Its customary ginger still had a dark red tinge, but it was falling softly again, instead of being slicked back close to his skull. Short bits of fringe hung on his forehead, making him look again like Treize and not Mephistophilis.

"I am found," he said with that smile Zechs' loved: the one that hinted that Treize was in on some secret scandalous knowledge about oneself. "Come, Zechs," he said, "I'm pleased I found you still here. We should celebrate too." Treize held out one open palmed hand toward Zechs.

Something in the older boy's demeanor, something in his outstretched hand, something in his voice, sent a pleasurable shiver of anticipation up Zechs' spine. "Yes," he said, and stepped forward to take the offered hand.

Treize took his hand only briefly before ushering him back behind the curtain, pressing the same hand to the small of Zechs' back, an even more intimate touch. Zechs looked back over his shoulder and smiled, hoping to encourage Treize to let his hand remain. And Treize did. They walked side by side backstage, Treize's hand lingering upon Zechs' back.

They entered the gloom of the prop room and when Treize stopped walking, Zechs stopped breathing.

"Did you want to meet the others at the bar?" Treize asked, and there was an implicit 'or' in the question mark intonation.

So what was the alternate? Perhaps...? The subtle flirting: the long glances and smiles, the casual touches that lingered -- they couldn't just be standard modus operandi for the upperclassman (Zechs had not seen him behave thus with anyone else at least) -- they must all mean something. And the other night when they'd been reading lines in Treize's room, Zechs had been certain Treize had considered kissing him at least once.

"Not really," said Zechs with a shrug. "I'm not much in the mood for crowds."

"Nor am I."

The hand at Zechs' back moved up his spine to his neck, tangling in his hair. He turned toward Treize and that hand came around to cup his chin.

"A more private celebration perhaps?" Treize continued, and when the thumb of Treize's hand lightly brushed his lower lip, Zechs closed his eyes.

Zechs barely had time to nod before Treize had closed the distance between them and pressed their mouths together. Even though Zechs had been wanting exactly this -- expecting it, really -- for so long, the reality of it took him by surprise. He fumbled with one hand for support, finding a stack of scenery boards leaning against the wall. He gripped the edge of the one nearest with one hand, and tentatively put his other hand on Treize's arm.

Treize's mouth was hot against his, and more urgent than Zechs would have thought. The older boy's tongue probed at the seam of his lips insistently, and Zechs knew he must -- with haste -- dispose of any lingering inhibitions he may harbour. He opened his mouth for Treize, welcoming his first French kiss with as much youthful ardor as he possessed, moaning into Treize's mouth and pressing his body against Treize's. It was hard to breathe, and Zechs feared he was dribbling from the corner of his mouth, but it was so glorious to finally be doing this -- what he'd been hoping for, aching for, fantasizing about for so long.

He felt suddenly emboldened by the tangling of their tongues in his mouth and worked his hand from Treize's arm to the other man's waist. He could feel Treize's body, warm and hard, beneath the scarlet shirt of his costume. The fabric was such a thin barrier, it tempted Zechs to grope in earnest, to slide his hand up and over Treize's ribs in search of a nipple. Once found he rubbed the hardened nub until he garnered a response.

With a most gratifying shudder, Treize pulled back from the kiss, "Zechs," he murmured. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you tonight?" Zechs found himself on the receiving end of a much more intimate grope. Even through the gathered fabric of his academic robes, Treize's hand cupping his stiffened cock left him gasping for oxygen. "Right now? “

Zechs did have some idea -- but it was an admittedly vague one. He knew the theory of sex between men, had daydreamed about it for weeks now, and now wanted very much for Treize to show him the reality of his theory and dreams. "You wish to sodomise me?" he asked, and pinched Treize's nipple between his fingers.

"In every sense of it..." Treize said and twisted Zechs around, pressing him back against the side-stacked scenery boards.

Swiftly, Treize dropped to his knees before Zechs, and Zechs gazed down at him -- he whom Zechs admired and adored so much, kneeling before him and smiling up at him. And then there was no more time to think. Treize was gathering up the heavy black robes of Zechs' costume and ducking under them. They fell, draping over Treize's back until all Zechs could see were Treize's backside and legs, still wrapped in the tight red-leather of his Mephistophilis costume, though he had removed the tail.

The robes were hot; Zechs already knew this, had experienced it under the bright heat of the stage lights, but that heat was nothing compared to this. Treize's hands slid up his bare thighs; Treize's lips pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, and, enfeebled by his desire, all Zechs could do was gulp for air and grip Treize's shoulders through the folds of his costume.

Then Treize's hands were over his cock again, but now only a thin barrier of cotton was between them. A greater heat -- heat with moisture -- closed over Zechs' aching shaft: Treize's mouth. Zechs felt the softness of his lips, the firm, damp probing of his tongue, the humidity of his breath as Treize mouthed his erection through the fabric. He gasped and groaned and pulled on Treize's shoulders, urging him to do more, to do something more than tease.

But Treize was unmoved by this encouragement. He licked at Zechs' cock through the thin material until it was sodden. He sucked at Zechs' shaft through the fine cotton weave. He teased and tormented until Zechs' was letting out a faint, "Oh, please..." with every other breath.

"Please... oh, please..." he panted, pressing his hips forward, grinding himself against Treize's face, seeking satisfaction.

Finally, Treize slipped fingers beneath the thin material and brushed Zechs' balls, stroked the side of his cock, and then helped maneuver Zechs' cockhead through the gap at the front of his boxers. Zechs' knees nearly gave out on him when those maddeningly agile lips wrapped snug suction around the bare tip of his cock while the even more agile tongue rubbed him just deliriously so.

"...yes," he gasped, letting his head fall back to stare up at the darkened rafters. He felt so wanton at the weight of his hair sliding down his back.

Treize sucked harder and Zechs cried out, uncaring who might hear them. Treize's tongue seemed to be everywhere -- digging gently into his slit, sliding beneath his foreskin to curl around his sensitive glans and rub against his frenulum. It was so very intimate, cataloguing the erotic movements of Treize's lips and tongue while they were obscured from his view.

Zechs shivered as Treize gently tugged back the skin covering the head of his cock and drew it deeper into his mouth. God, the heat, the suction, the rhythm of his tongue... That was all it took for Zechs to cry out and jerk against Treize, coming in waves of pleasurable contractions until he was doubled over, gripping desperately to Treize’s shoulders.

But Treize wasn't finished with him. Zechs had barely straightened, expecting Treize to come out from under the hot, heavy robes, when Treize's hands were on his hips pressing him to move.

"Turn around," said Treize. The words were clear even through the muffling of the robes.

Still wobbly and disoriented from his first fellatio induced orgasm, Zechs complied in a daze. Treize lifted the robes allowing Zechs to move without tangling him up in them, and then pushed the robes higher.

"Bend over," said Treize and licked the back of his left thigh.

And Zechs did so, leaning on the scenery boards, and feeling cool air hit his legs as Treize piled the robes up onto Zechs' back, exposing his legs and -- as Treize yanked down his damp boxers -- baring his ass.

"Zechs?" said Treize gently, lightly stroking a fingertip from the base of Zechs' spine between his buttocks, barely grazing his anus.

Zechs shivered, and the full realisation of what Treize intended to do to him helped to return the blood to his softening erection. "Yes?"

"You're sure?" Treize pressed his mouth to one buttock, kissing with an open mouth and roving tongue. The slick muscle swirled hotly over Zechs' skin, leaving a cooling trail, and then swept into his cleft for a fleeting ticklish tease.

"Yeah," Zechs gasped, the heavy need for release rapidly returning to his cock, but there was a tremor of apprehension in his chest too -- of knowing full well, but without truly understanding what was about to happen to him, of realising this was an irreversible decision: once done it could never be undone.

"It won't hurt. I won't hurt you, all right?"

Zechs nodded mutely. It was another lesson for Treize to teach him, that was all. It was inevitable wasn't it? For him to experience this with someone for the first time. Why not with Treize, who fascinated him and enthralled him so, whom he trusted and respected. Who better, truly, for this first time than Treize, his mentor, his friend.

His knowledge and curiosity enhanced his desire, overwhelming his doubts. Those two brief touches between his buttocks had incited a new ache in contrasting complement to the more familiar throb in his cock. He wanted to feel more of it, to feel Treize's cock forcing itself into his body, to know what that fullness would be like... to feel Treize moving inside him, finding pleasure within his body.

"Please, Treize..." he gasped, his anticipation fueling the fire in his loins."Just do it."

"Whatever you wish, Milliardo," Treize said, his lips moving against bare flesh and making Zechs' heart quiver.

It was the first time Treize had ever used his given name, and the first time in a long time Zechs did not resent hearing it. Hearing Treize purr his abandoned name like that (for abandoned or not, it was still the name he had been born with) gave the moment fidelity for Zechs, and suddenly he stopped thinking in favour of being fully in his sensations.

"Oh..." he groaned, when Treize spread his buttocks and stroked with one thumb over his anus, forward-down to his balls, and back up to his virgin entrance. Back and forth, over and over, it was an easy rhythm, but a frighteningly provocative massage. Each passage of Treize's thumb came firmer than the previous, and each left Zechs less coherent in his muffled moans and trembling limbs.

When the warmth and wetness of Treize's tongue joined in alongside his thumb, slicking that thumb's movements, Zechs collapsed to his elbows, the hard edge of the scenery boards dug into his forearms but he didn't care. His universe had contracted to just the sensations along a scant few inches of his body. It was everything.

Treize was pressing the tip of his thumb against his anus, dipping in just a little and pulling out before repeating the shallow intrusion. He jiggled its tip against Zechs' hole, and Zechs gasped at the involuntary quivers it incited, ached for Treize to hurry up and push deeper.

And again Treize's tongue joined his thumb, squirming in beside the thumb, adding the slickness to allow Treize to press deeper. It burned a little, the intrusion, but Zechs welcomed it: the heat, the friction, and the taboo intensity of what Treize was doing to him. He almost wished he could see... He could feel Trieze pushing against the tension in his anus, and guessed this was a necessary part of the act. He already knew some lubrication was necessary, and it felt like Treize was spreading a generous enough amount of saliva around and into his entrance.

Zechs' knees buckled, and he banged them sharply into the board before him when Treize shoved forward with his thumb -- pushing it in one imperfectly smooth stroke as far as it could go, and now the rest of Treize's hand was pressed warm against his backside. The moist heat of Treize's tongue receded though, and Zechs sensed Treize moving behind him, fumbling with something -- his pants? Something else? And then Treize was standing behind him without removing his thumb, now moving his hand, rubbing and thrusting and twisting, building an electric pleasure within Zechs that started at the base of his spine and flared out and up -- singing through his nerves, from his fingertips to his toes. He could practically feel it in his hair.

Instinctively it seemed, Zechs found himself rocking his hips back against Treize's hand, seeking more depth and friction. The initial discomfort and muscle burn had receded and now his gut felt hollow and he ached for more. He wanted to feel until it was too much, to be opened and penetrated and bloody well _fucked_.

"Ready?" Treize panted behind him, nuzzling his hair, and the raw lust in Treize's voice made Zechs moan more loudly.

"Yeah..."

His world went white around the edges when Treize began to push his cock into him, gradually, the thick, blunt head replaced his thumb, pushing in as the other drew gently out. The burning ache returned at the greater intrusion and it felt utterly impossible to Zechs just then that his body could stretch enough to accommodate Treize. He grew abruptly fearful, and felt himself tensing against his will, his breaths coming faster and more shallowly, his arousal diminishing...

But it was all right; Treize told him so. And Treize was patient, reassuring. Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, taking his time and offering tenderly spoken words of encouragement to Zechs to breathe, to relax, to focus, Treize coaxed Zechs' body to yield fully, to welcome the penetration without any pain.

This was it; he was... he was with Treize as he'd dreamed of, so full of Treize. Zechs shuddered, his senses taxed by too much feeling. Treize wrapped an arm about his waist, pulling Zechs back against him more securely. His panting breaths were hot and humid against the sweaty hair sticking to Zechs' neck and the sides of his face. He kissed Zechs' neck through the now tangled mess of his hair, nuzzled behind his jaw, and when Zechs heard Treize whisper, "Perfect." against his ear, he turned his head, twisting and stretching his neck until their mouths could meet.

Their lips strove together through his hair until Treize broke the kiss, fumbling with the fingers of one hand to collect the strands and clear the tenacious barrier. "But you do need a haircut," he murmured, and then they were kissing again before Zechs could reply. It was awkward, but it was perfect. It helped Zechs relax more so the pleasure could come when Treize started to grind his hips against him.

And come it did. The pressure was incredible; Treize felt so huge inside him. Zechs gasped and shut his eyes, let himself relax more fully into Treize's movements. His lover -- yes his _lover_ now -- remained patient. They rocked together gently for what seemed an eternity until Zechs was certain he could take more vigorous movements. His cock was hard again; his body yearned for more, and thus Zechs felt emboldened by this desire to ask for more.

And more Treize gave him, withdrawing only shallowly at first, pushing back into Zechs with short, slow strokes, which gradually lengthened, but remained at an excrutiatingly languid pace. He could feel each separate thrust and withdrawal, each instance of his body opening and closing for each in-and-out movement of his partner's cock. And as Zechs' pleas grew louder and more plaintive, Treize's thrusts grew harder, rocking Zechs forward against the scenery boards and shaking his entire body.

Everything was the fullness and heat and friction of Treize's drumming into his bowels, fucking him with such clarity and care. The passion was conveyed through the endearments whispered against his skin, the tightening of the arm around his waist, and the lazy caresses of the other hand clutching his hip.

But the pressure, oh, it was accumulating so fast now, wadding up with pleasure and desire and heat and sensation -- it was something so intense and terrible, and it -- no, _he_ \-- needed relief. He needed something else, something more... he needed... he didn't know quite what until Treize's hand at his hip moved, coming around to take possession of Zechs' erection.

"Yes," Zechs hissed, thrusting into Treize's palm eagerly, while Treize drove even harder into his gut. He still could hardly believe the feeling, being so open, so full, so needy -- so ravished.

"Are you close?" Treize panted behind him.

He was -- and getting closer. "Almost..." he gasped, caught between wanting to rub himself against Treize's hand, and throw his hips back to take the thick cock as far into his belly as he possibly could.

Treize thrust once more deeply and changed his grip on Zechs to beat his cock faster. He ground his hips and jerked his hand sharply, and Zechs lost all sense of himself, whimpering and tensing, and then climaxing violently with hoarse shouts and desperate, arrhythmic jerks of his hips, his insides clamping like a vice around Treize’s cock. He felt his semen spurt over his thighs and Treize's hand; most splattered against the inside of his academic robes. And then his legs gave way.

He slid to the ground to his hands and knees, and Treize stayed right behind him, still inside him, arm wrapped around his waist. Neither moved for a moment, until Zechs realised his partner hadn't come yet, so he pushed back against Treize to encourage him to continue.

Treize answered with broken breath, “Zechs, you are, everything…” He pushing Zechs' robes up further and then grasping his buttocks firmly with both hands, spread them wide. “… _everything_ I knew you would be.”

With his grip tight on Zechs’ hips, Treize began moving again, but his thrusts were less measured now and quickly accelerated to a flurry of hard, fasts shoves, which left Zechs reeling despite having already climaxed twice. And then Zechs was gratified by the sounds of Treize's orgasm, of hearing his friend – always so controlled and refined -- lose it all for just that moment, coming deep inside him and ardently moaning Zechs' name in his bliss.

Treize did not linger within him long after his orgasm. He withdrew gently, kissed and stroked Zechs' back with soothing affection. "Thank you, Zechs," he said, his voice low and still rough from their coupling.

Not trusting his own voice to speak coherently yet, Zechs settled for managing to stand despite his noodley feeling legs, and tugged up his damp boxers, wincing at the cold wetness of his congealing ejaculate inside his robes which stuck them to his thighs.

He shoved his damp, tangled hair roughly from his face and turned to see Treize fastening the button on his trousers. "We can clean up in my dressing room?" Treize proposed.

Zechs smiled wearily and nodded. He took Treize's hand and squeezed, hoping that gesture said the things he felt in his heart, but for which he had not quite discovered the words.

 

Later, clean and dry and warm in their coats and scarves they stepped together out into the late autumn night. The air was cold and dry and smelled of imminent snow. Frost sparkled on the campus lawns where the grass was struck by the streetlights. They walked side-by-side, hands in pockets but elbows touching. Treize broke the silence between them first.

"Zechs?"

"Yes?" Zechs replied, turning to study Treize's scarf wrapped profile.

"I never asked you -- what are you doing for Christmas? Are you going back to Austria?"

"I..." Zechs bowed his head and shook it. He was no longer welcome there. "I was going to stay here, in my room."

"Alone?"

Zechs nodded.

"Oh, Zechs!" Treize chided, taking the younger boy's elbow. "You cannot spend Christmas alone. Come with me to Luxembourg tomorrow. My family would love to have you stay -- and I'll make sure none of them harass you about your family. In fact they needn't even be told. You're my friend, and that is enough for them."

They stopped on the footpath, in the shade between lampposts. Treize turned to him, his expression all smiling entreaty. Zechs realised Treize wasn't asking him out of either pity or obligation, but genuine affection. He wanted Zechs with him for Christmas. Zechs returned his friend's smile.

"So you'll come?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful." Treize embraced him briefly, and they carried on back to their dormitories.

As they walked the final blocks in companionable silence, Zechs understood then that this friendship with Treize would become the foundation for his new life. He'd been without a tether, without a family, without a home -- without understanding or affection for so long now it seemed -- but now he had all of that, and perhaps something more with Treize. He was no longer alone.

 

 **the end**


End file.
